With another double notched up, this time over a Notty Forrest team shell-shocked by a twenty minute period which would make your Gran twerk. We think Jon Rogers and Richard Jeffery saw Howson and Wes do a goal each...we think.
We are very fortunate that our time on the planet has coincided with football being a thing, and Norwich having a club in particular. It is also highly coincidental that the collection of atoms that make up your body and give you sight and sentience have coincided with Jonny Howson being here too.
The human eye is a very complex organ. It belongs to the group of eyes found in mammalian species called the camera type eyes. It’s an absolute wonder of evolution (in your face creationists), that over millions of years the eye has slowly developed to what it is. A wonderful chance of nature that we’re here and that we have eyes.
Thank your lucky stars we are and we have, and thank them even more if you were there yesterday to see Jonny’s goal.
It will have been described elsewhere no doubt as technically excellent, and beautiful. It was both of those things and many more. I won’t go into it, you’ve all seen it by now and nothing I say could ever add to its wonder.
I’ve given it some thought, and it was the best goal I’ve seen scored at FCR in all my thirty something years of traipsing down to the old place.
You’ll likely never see a better one, he’ll never score a better one.
To paraphrase the late Sid Waddell: "When Alexander of Macedonia was 33, he cried salt tears because there were no more worlds to conquer… Howson's only 28”.
Tell me one you think is better and I’ll fight you to death, bare chested, to prove you’re wrong. RJ
Come Back to Bed.
We were so fed up with the lack of clean sheets, sloppy, lazy performances and lack action in important games, we kicked Alex Neil out of the Norwich City bed and told him to go. Pack his bags, take his £2m and sod the eff off. We didn’t want him anymore.
But he didn’t. He didn’t quit us like we quit him.
Apart from the occasion snappy retort to the strong worded arguments in the press, he kept his head down and ploughed on. Quite literally after the Brentford game.
Now, through lessons learned, strokes of luck and some fabulous football, the bedding is clean. The smiles are back and there’s more action to throw a John Ruddy sized stick at.
Guys, I think it’s time we let Alex back in the marital bed. If we play well on Tuesday, his name needs to be sung again just like Mr Carrow. JR
I’m usually ambivalent about the big screen. When it chunkily turns to face us in the Barclay to replay the goal, I’m always torn between watching the replay or the actual game I’ve paid to see and end up doing neither properly.
Howfuckingever. The one time, the only time I’ve wanted, nay yearned, to see it clank into life and show me what I could hardly believe I’d seen (clue: it wasn’t Pinto’s foul throw). The bastard thing didn’t move. Bastard.
But not so fast- recall that email hastily sent to firstname.lastname@example.org before he/she sees it. The last time Metal Mickey didn’t put in a shift we also scored five, against Brentford. It’s clear that him not turning is now crucial to our play off hopes and he must never turn again.
I’m not into conspiracy theories, but someone, somewhere knows something.
Thinking about it, Mr Carrow was in the away bar. RJ
Murphlet’s go Crazy
We saw other Murphlet verses Nottingham, and although there was a lack of communication and wavelength between him and his Portugeezer behind him, he put a much more mature performance in than we’ve been used to.
His brother has learnt that working hard, tackling back, closing down, getting clattered by winning a 50/50 headers (just like the one he won to set up Wes for his tap-in) are just as important as doing what is natural to him – doing a super twonk into the top corner.
I noticed half way through the second half Alex Neil called Josh over, had a word in his ear and the punched his own hand in a way that said ‘break everyone’s legs as quick as you can’ – Although disapointingly he didn’t send anyone to A+E, he did score, and he caused red card.
The Murphy boys are becoming Murphy men. JR
Fat Boy, what’s the score?
Ross McCormack. More like Ross McBigMac®, amarite?
The Thorpe Corner Utras picked up where they left off against Villa, teasing McBigMac® as he warmed up along the touchline. There was some #epicbantz going down. “You’re too fat to climb a gate” etc..
When he stripped down to his playing kit and came on, it was clear just how out of shape he is and why Steve Bruce shipped him out. Boy got back. And front. And sides.
However, he did show what a good finisher he is by lifting the ball deftly over the advancing John Ruddy to get his first goal for Forest.
Now, I’m all for players giving it back to fans, and find that those fans who complain when they do, having been ripping the player for 90 minutes, are remoany snowflakes who also whine about safe spaces and should probably ‘get over it , you lost’ and go off and fight in a war or something.
But. Big but (like Ross has). To give it the big shush when your side is being well beaten and you’ve just scored a late consolation to bring it back to 4-1 was so pathetic everyone just laughed at him. Time and a place son.
The resultant chorus of ‘Fat Boy, what’s the score’ was well deserved, and in the spirit of #bantz McBigMac® did give a thumbs up to the Barclay in response.
Fair play fat boy. RJ
I’m getting it in early as some sort of I’d be delighted with a point against Newcastle. I’d be more delighted with Jon-Jo Shelvey scoring an own goal off his shiny head in the last minute to give us three points – but like the Murphy's, I’m not bitter with taking a point to keep ourselves shuffling up the table. JR